Happy Valentine's Day
by jazzyproz
Summary: This is my entry for the Bonesology Valentine's Day fic exchange 2017. Here's hoping that everyone has a great February 14th! Rated T only for some language.


**A/N Good day and welcome. This is my entry for the Bonesology Valentine's Day Fic exchange. This is my gift to 5546Laura!**

 **Laura asked for** _ **Booth, Brennan and one or two others, an unusual Valentine's Day gift at a time before they were married**_ **.**

 **I may have (very) loosely translated the request, and taken some liberties here, but I hope you're ok with the time frame I've selected and the progression as the story took on a life of its own.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or its characters.**

 _Valentine's Day ain't a real friggin' holiday anyway_ , Booth grunted in his own mind; it seemed to be his mantra this year. _The banks aren't even closed. It's nothin' more than a money-making day created by the damned greeting card companies and florists…_ He raised his shot glass towards the bartender, asking for a refill with a single jerk of his chin. Knocking back the rich amber liquor, he closed his eyes and relished the slow burning sensation that spread through his chest. _Screw you, Cupid_ , he thought bitterly as he tossed a few bills onto the bar. _I need t'go shoot something_...

Brennan struggled slightly under the weight of the bulky crate, dragging it from the back of the Jeffersonian box-truck and squaring it onto the trolley wheels. When Booth didn't answer her calls to his cell or his apartment, she went through her mental checklist of where she would locate him. Finding that he wasn't in his office or at the FBI gym, she ventured into the only other logical place she suspected he might be, besides sitting at a bar someplace trying to drink his pain away. Before hauling his surprise in with her, the anthropologist had gone inside to confirm her theory. Sure enough, there he was… He'd checked into shooting range C, the smallest and, as such, the least populated of the FBI's five indoor ranges. The Special Agent was standing at the mouth of Lane Four, discharging his sidearm downrange in rapid succession. After ensuring that no one else was present, she stood silently for a few moments, simply watching as he further honed his already considerable skill. His shoulders were tense, his stance rigid, and his aim was deadly accurate. The anthropologist turned away, heading back out to the truck, pausing only long enough to ask a favor of the sign-in guard, who, incidentally, had harbored a secret crush on the scientist for years and always went out of his way to accommodate anything she asked for. Her simple request was that if anyone else came in for the next hour or so, would he please direct them to one of the other ranges, allowing some privacy for the partners.

Booth's expression as he cradled and fired the Thompson submachine gun, _Tommy Gun_ she reminded herself, shredding the lacy paper valentine suspended at the end of his practice lane, was all Brennan needed to know that she'd done the right thing. For the few weeks leading up to Valentine's Day, she'd managed to successfully navigate phone calls and decline every single invitation she'd received, even though there were definitely a couple that she subconsciously admitted, could have proven to be quite enjoyable, and had she received such overtures in the past, she would've accepted the offers with enthusiasm. Since Hannah left Booth, however, Brennan was far more interested in repairing her friendship and relationship with her partner, while simultaneously keeping a surreptitious eye on him to make sure he didn't relapse into any of his previously detrimental behaviors.

There were times, when her defenses were down, or after she'd been working long hours and not sleeping well, when her imagination seemed to have a life of its own, and she could picture herself opening a dialog with Booth about the possibility of the two of them entering into a personal relationship… There were moments when she mentally rehearsed what she would say when she finally explained that she had mis-communicated her unwillingness to 'take a chance on them' when he offered it to her nearly twenty months prior. Deep down, the scientist had vowed to herself that she'd do whatever necessary to prove to Booth that she _would_ stand by him, and she even imagined that when the time was right, she'd voice her desire to be closer to him. Of course, their success in moving towards a personal relationship would depending on whether or not he was still interested in her. As she stood in lane three, holding her own Tommy Gun, she silently congratulated herself for her decision to pilfer the 'Roaring 20's' exhibit that evening.

Once they had exhausted the ammunition Brennan had supplied, the partners carefully packed the antique weapons back into the large wooden crate. Smiling, they admired and complimented each other's tattered targets, joking about framing their _art_ and displaying it for all to see what badasses they were. Booth followed Brennan back to the Jeffersonian, helping to return the guns to their rightful place. As she locked the door, the anthropologist turned and fell into step beside Booth, a familiar yet still somewhat strained sensation crackled between them. They walked in silence towards the exit and the agent finally broke the silence when they reached the elevators.

With his hands shoved in his coat pockets, he studied the toes of his shoes with intense interest. "Thanks, Bones." His words were soft and he took a slow breath before raising his head to eye her somewhat sideways. "That was…" he smiled, a genuinely appreciative grin. "That was awesome."

Brennan felt her cheeks warm. Knowing that her simple actions had been the reason for Booth's happy demeanor made her smile in response. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Booth." She entered the elevator once the doors slid open. "I remembered you once said that shooting a Thompson Submachine Weapon was somehow notated on your aspiring canister catalog..."

He stared at her for a moment, certain that his blank expression would prompt her to re-think what she was saying and explain her meaning. When silence ensued on their ride down to the garage level, the metaphorical light bulb illuminated.

"Bucket List!" He exclaimed cheerfully, a somewhat nostalgic feeling coursing through his body as a smile spread wide across his face. It had been a while since he had the opportunity to translate Bones-to-English in a non-professional setting. And he realized, with a mixture of happiness and regret, how much he'd missed it. When he saw her smirk, the agent knew that she'd set him up. Narrowing his eyes, he pointed at her playfully. "You knew _exactly_ what you were saying…"

Laughing out loud, she led the way out into the parking garage. "Whether it's _an aspiring canister catalog_ or _a bucket list_ , it's a ridiculous phrase…" Spinning on her heel once she reached her car, she eyed him with a silent challenge to contradict her opinion. She saw a flash behind his eyes, something akin to the warning she'd receive just before the onset of a typical sparring session in which they'd engage whenever he would try to convince her that a common colloquialism made perfect sense to the rest of humanity. Almost as quickly as it came, however, the fire was extinguished and he ducked his head, nodding once.

"Yeah, I guess it is, Bones." He rolled his lips between his teeth. It would have been so easy, _almost too easy_ , to have slipped back into their old rhetoric. He could have teased her, she would have goaded him, they would have ended their evening at Founding Fathers sharing a laugh and a drink. That was a long time ago, however, and Booth wasn't sure they'd ever really get back to that point, no matter how much he wanted to… He simply couldn't bring himself to risk his heart again...or his sanity for that matter… Instead of asking her to go for a beer at Founding Fathers, he shrugged and looked at her. "Wanna grab a cup of coffee at the diner?"

Trying to study her partner while not blatantly observing him, she thought about the look he gave her back at the shooting range. His eyes had been shining, his smile was radiant… He had thoroughly enjoyed the guns and Brennan felt a flutter in her abdomen - something she had been missing for more than a year. She tilted her head and raised one corner of her mouth softly. "Yeah. Coffee sounds good. We can celebrate the St. Valentine's Day Massacre."

Straightening the collar of his coat, Booth chuckled and tried to swallow his anxiety at spending more time with the only woman who still held the power to completely crush him. "Yeah. It'll be more fun that celebrating Valentine's Day the traditional way…"

She laughed and opened her car door, looking over her shoulder before getting in. Before he reached his SUV, she called out to him. "When have we ever celebrated _anything_ in a traditional way, Booth?"

B/B/B/B

By mid-March, Booth and Brennan seemed to gradually find their legendary _mojo_ once again. Their resolution rate was climbing and the turnaround time for solving those cases was consistently growing shorter. As individuals, the pair still maintained a considerably wide berth as they circled, sniffed, retracted from and re-approached one another on a daily basis.

One afternoon, a particularly cold and windy March Wednesday, Booth was summoned to Cullen's office just as he was packing up for the day. Mrs. Reed, the highly efficient assistant who had been with Cullen since the start of his tenure, smiled warmly at Booth when the younger agent walked in.

"Good afternoon, Agent Booth," the portly woman smiled as she pulled on her coat, ready to face the bitter weather outside. "He's ready for you, you can go right in."

Booth nodded at the seasoned secretary, certain she would know why he was so suddenly called to appear. "Thanks, Mrs. Reed." He looked at the slightly-ajar door and then back at the woman. "Do you, ah," he leaned closer. "Do you know what he wants?" He dropped his volume to a conspiratorial whisper. "'Cause, you know, I don't remember doing anything against the books…"

He was startled when Cullen's bellowing voice echoed through the otherwise empty waiting room. "If you get your ass in here, you'll find out what I want, Booth!"

Snapping to attention, Booth shrugged at Mrs. Reed guiltily, giving her a wide-eyed but silent apology. "Good night, Mrs. Reed."

Chuckling, she moved to the door. "Night, Booth," and she made her exit, leaving him to smooth down his tie nervously before opening his boss's office door.

B/B/B/B

"I'm attending a lecture Friday evening," Brennan said as she stirred a bit of honey and lemon into her tea. Raising her eyes, she looked at her partner, sitting across the diner table from her, similarly stirring his beverage. He, however, was stirring an inordinate amount of sugar into coffee, making her wrinkle her nose slightly.

"Oh yeah?" He glanced up and caught her eye. The agent could have sworn he saw her blush as she nodded.

"Yes." She willed the cacophony of flutters erupting in her abdomen to settle down, there was no reason for her to be nervous. "I was thinking...that you might like to join me." She saw the shock in his eyes and scurried to cover her tracks. "Unless, of course, you have other plans… which, being Friday, I understand is entirely possible…". She rambled nervously on, talking quickly. "I mean, this _is_ sort of last minute, I understand. And I don't know when you have Parker these days. And besides, it's on a Friday… that's generally the day people make plans to do something recreational… It's just," she felt suddenly parched and while her tea was still far too hot to drink, she took a sip anyway. "It's just that I thought you might find it interesting as well...It's called _A New Perspective and Modern Focus on Ancient Warfare_."

Not certain if he should be shocked at the invitation or terrified at the implication that she was possibly asking him out, in her own nerdy, Bonesy way, he stuttered. "Oh, well, jeez, Bones." He palmed the back of his neck and, like she had done, opted to risk his own safety and take a taste of his coffee, immediately regretting the decision as soon as the scalding liquid hit his upper lip. "That sounds," he thought about it quickly, his mind racing. "Actually," he raised his eyebrows. "Actually that sounds _really_ interesting." And suddenly he realized, it truly _did_ sound like something he'd like, and he was touched that she would consider inviting him.

Not bothering to hide the smile threatening to split her face, she half-sighed and half-giggled...something she never did… "Great!" She leaned in the table with her forearms, effectively leaning closer to him. "So you'll come?"

Feeling a wave of regret wash over him, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. "I wish I could, Bones. But I can't… I… I have plans for Friday night."

Immediately recoiling, as if she had been burned, she sat back in her seat. "Oh. I see." Instantly, she realized why he had been in such a good mood lately… He must be dating again, but, since he no longer shared any personal details of his social life with her, she didn't know. "It's no problem. Now that I think about it, you'd probably be bored anyway…" She needed to find a way to backpedal out of the metaphorical corner in which she'd painted herself. As if suddenly remembering something very important, she reached into her purse and pulled out a few dollars, dropping them onto the table. "I just remembered, I need to…" _What do I need to do? What can I have forgotten about? Think, Brennan, think!_ "I just forgot to, uh," she licked her lips as she shoved her arms into her coat. "I just need to go."

"Wait, Bones!" He reached out and grabbed her hand, instantly understanding why she was running away. Succeeding at halting her progress, he stood up by their table. "You need to eat," he coaxed her.

"I'm not hungry." It was a knee-jerk reply, an involuntary response, rehearsed and perfected over the years. "I-"

"But I wanted to talk to you… About my plans…"

"Your plans are your business, Booth. I have no right to interfere with your personal time…"

Tugging her jacket sleeve, he shook his head and sighed softly. "Bones, just," he motioned to her chair. "Just give me a few minutes, huh?" He saw her walls go up, that damn compartmentalizing veil dropping behind her stormy eyes. "It's not what you're thinking."

She rolled her eyes at this comment. "You can't possibly know what I'm thinking, Booth." The scientist inhaled slowly and looked at her vacant seat, avoiding his knowing, soul-piercing brown eyes.

"This isn't my weekend for Parker." He released his grip on her sleeve and moved back towards his own chair, innately knowing that Parks wasn't _truly_ the first thought to pop into her beautiful brain. He sat down and motioned towards her chair. "And I'm not going on a date, or nothin'..."

The trademark crease that he was expecting immediately appeared between her eyebrows. Dropping into the plastic-cushioned seat unceremoniously, she studied him for a moment. "How did you…"

"I _know_ you, Bones." He lifted his coffee cup to hide the cocky smirk that was barely contained. "Jupiter. Daisy." His voice grew hushed as he thought seriously about how much he really did understand and know his partner. "Daffodil."

She smiled softly and spoke in equally quiet tones. "Jasper...Brainy."

He nodded silently, getting lost in her eyes. _Oh, how I've missed those eyes_ … He still hadn't figured out what was going to happen between himself and Brennan, he didn't know in which direction their seemingly unbreakable friendship would turn… But he _did_ know that he was going to take things slow. Whatever is _thing_ with Brennan was, he innately knew it was an integral part of his happiness and he wouldn't risk it again.

Brennan watched him for a few moments, sensing that her partner was having some internal discussion, but she was suddenly in no rush to flee from his dark eyes. Just as she was about to break their stalemate, he shifted in his seat.

"Cullen needed to see me tonight," he began. "That's why I was a little late getting here."

"Oh?" Brennan always felt a little unnerved when Booth was called to the boss's office. Even though the Deputy Director seemed to have warmed to her over the years, the scientist knew that she had a way of unknowingly pissing people off. Nearly a decade earlier, Booth had vouched for her, and as a result, everything she did in reference to their cases always reflected directly on Booth. Because of that not-so-tiny caveat, that moment when Cullen had pointed at Booth with a stern expression, warning him, _you vouched for her, this is on you_ , Brennan was constantly reminding herself to, as Booth often put it, 'simmer down.'

He nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. "I gotta go out of town tomorrow." When the familiar crease made a reappearance on her brow, he clarified. "For work. I need to head up to Philly for a couple days. It's an undercover thing."

"But," she was confused. He wasn't exactly asking her to come along, but he was being put into an undercover case? "You and I, we do undercover together, Booth. Is this your way of telling me we have a case?" She tilted her head. "Because normally you would just abduct me from the lab and…"

"No," he interrupted her train of thought. " _We're_ ," he motioned between them both, "not going undercover. Just me." He knew she wasn't going to be happy, and, again, the reaction he'd expected from her was spot on.

Instantly angry, she sat upright. "But I am your partner, Booth," she pointed to herself, as if he might not realize who she was. "We _always_ do our undercover work together."

"Sorry." He placed his mug down. "Not this time, Bones." He saw her hackles rising, but there was nothing he could do about the situation… He'd already had it out with Cullen less than an hour earlier, trying to convince the Deputy Director that he always worked better with Brennan. "Besides, it's actually a surveillance job… Recon for a case the Philly team is neck deep in. But they suspect the perps know which agents are working the deal and they need a fresh face… Somebody who can blend in... become invisible in the streets… and one who is unknown up there."

"Why does it have to be you?" She quirked an eyebrow and tried her best to make it obvious she was not at all happy about being left behind.

Booth suddenly felt bad for his partner. She always took it hard when he worked a case that didn't require her specific expertise or those of her cohorts at the Jeffersonian. But the fact that this one wasn't even in town, that was just pouring salt into the wound. "I have the experience they need, Bones. It's only gunna be a couple days. I leave tomorrow, get back Saturday evening, maybe Sunday morning."

"Will you… Will you be in danger?" She swallowed hard, despising that she wouldn't be there to have his back. She wove her fingers together, clenching them tightly and hoping that he didn't notice her anxiety. _It feels like we're finally getting somewhere with regards to our pending personal relationship_ , she thought. _What if something happens to him and I'm not there to help?_

"No, Bones." He spoke softly. "Seriously, it's just observation." In a move that was, thus far in their more recent attempts to repair that which was broken between them, out of character for him, he reached out with one hand and covered her folded fists where they rested on the table. "And I'll be on the daytime stakeout, which is even better - no graveyard shift. I'm getting too old for that shit."

She nodded and rolled her lips between her teeth, focusing intently on the surprising difference between his darker, olive pigmented hand against her own pale skin. She tried to push away the many nightmarish visions she'd had over the years. Horrible night terrors that left him beaten and tortured in the dark recesses of her mind… The panic that sometimes jerked her awake after her dream-self received news from an anonymous face that her partner was killed in action… The all-consuming anxiety she always experienced whenever the FBI, _or any other Law Enforcement Agency for that matter_ , lost one of their own, providing a stark reminder just how dangerous their jobs were.

Finally raising her eyes, Brennan inhaled slowly. "Can we talk while you're away? Or text? Just so I know you're alright?"

Booth knew that the scientist had lost faith in the chain of communication with the FBI ever since Sweets failed to tell her he wasn't dead years ago. Even though Booth had raised hell to Cullen, Caroline Julien, and _especially_ Sweets, that Brennan was _never_ to be omitted from the list of notifications again, she still didn't trust the system. Booth had even gone a step further. After a lengthy heart-to-heart with his emotionally fragile partner, over a bottle of tequila and a platter of late-night nachos at his place, he left written orders in his file specifying that she was to be the _first and only_ person informed of any developments pertaining to his welfare. Once she received any sort of notification, she would personally go see Pops and Parker with the news and make phone calls to his brother and anyone else on Booth's list. The Senior Agent had only done two other gigs on his own since the agonizing fake-death, and they'd arranged their own communication method for use while he was out of touch for those cases. Since they returned from the opposite ends of the world, however, he hadn't strayed from their partnership for a job. Even during the strained months when he was with Hannah while still trying to navigate their rocky friendship, he fought The Suits Upstairs to remain partners in the face of a declining solve rate and arguments that rivaled even the biggest volcanic eruptions.

He smiled warmly, certain the mixture of adoration and anguish for his partner was evident in his eyes. "Yeah, Bones." He squeezed her hand once and as he prepared to pull away, was surprised when she loosened her own grip and quickly threaded the fingers of one hand between his. "We can text, _just our codes_ , during the day... Let's say, eight in the morning, noon and then again at five-thirty? And once I'm off shift and debriefed at base, should be around nine pm or so, we can talk. How about that?"

Satisfied that he was receptive to still communicating while he was away, she nodded in begrudging agreement. "Well, if I cannot accompany you as your partner, I will acquiesce to that schedule." She inhaled sharply and raised the pointer finger that was not encased by his own. " _But_ , if I do not hear from you, or you reply with something other than our already-established code indicators, I _will_ come looking for you. I don't give a _damn_ what Cullen says…"

A smile tugging one corner of his lips, he nodded. "You got it, Bones."

B/B/B/B

Thursday morning seemed to arrive awful early in Booth's opinion. Growling, he reached out and slammed his hand down on his alarm clock, silencing the incessant beeping that interrupted his slumber. He'd spent half the night lying awake thinking about Brennan's facial expressions and her emotional tells, which had all been on fidgety display Wednesday night when he told her of his temporary assignment. He tried to sooth her nerves the best he could, but he understood some of her concerns.

After what proved to be a near-disastrous time in their partnership, the pair had finally started to rediscover their footing. Their resolution rate was climbing again, they were socializing outside the office once more, they were spending true quality time together. And it was blatantly obvious that once he licked his own wounds well enough, and she let a little more of her impenetrable wall crumble, they were walking side-by-side once again. Only this time, they were doing it at a more calculated pace; one at which they both seemed comfortable. There was a give-and-take between them that hadn't been present before, and it was working, making them both realize how much they'd nearly lost.

So, after soothing his partner's fears and spending extra time with her to make sure she was okay, the agent finally returned to his apartment late that night. He simply threw some street clothes into his duffle bag and fell into bed, hoping for the best. The best was hardly what he got… When he did eventually fall asleep in the wee hours of morning, he was startled awake by dreamy images of Brennan's soul-swallowing, stormy blue eyes. Once that happened, he had a helluva a time finding sleep again and only dozed on and off.

 _Shit_ , he thought. _Gotta get my ass outta bed… Where the hell'd the night go?_ Dragging his exhausted body to the bathroom, Booth quickly, _and mindlessly_ , ran through his morning routine, knowing he had to get an early start if he had any chance of making it to Philly in time for the A.M. Briefing. Somewhat surprised at his own efficiency, the agent was showered, dressed, packed and out the door twenty-five minutes later. He called Brennan from the road, letting her know he was heading out and confirming that he would contact her again at noon, since he would most likely be in a meeting by eight. Cranking up the volume on his radio, he let a classic rock morning show fill the otherwise silent SUV and he mentally reprimanded himself when he caught himself glancing longingly over at the empty passenger seat more than once.

B/B/B/B

Brennan locked herself in Limbo almost immediately upon entering the lab that morning. She was battling with her emotions, not understanding some while inwardly denying the very existence of others. When Angela tried to pry her for information, incorrectly assuming she and Booth had fought the evening before when they met for dinner, the anthropologist swiftly and un-apologetically put a stop to the questions.

"Angela," she huffed, "my morning demeanor has nothing to do with Booth. I just didn't get much sleep last night. I'm tired and wish to be left to my own solitude." She turned on her heel and continued her long strides and rapid pace towards the stairwell. When she heard Jack approach his wife, questioning what was happening, Brennan clenched her fists and kept walking. "I'm sure you have work to do, Angela," she called over her shoulder. "The Jeffersonian does not pay you a handsome salary to waste time gossiping all day!" When she reached the glass doors that would lead to her escape route, she turned back and pinned a steady glare at Hodgins across the cavernous space. "That goes for you too, Dr. Hodgins. I am certain you have plenty of work to keep you busy and if you don't I can definitely assign an intern or two to shadow you for the day…"

The married couple stared slack-jawed at the moody scientist and then eyed each other sideways. Once she had thankfully yanked the door open and moved out of sight, and hearing range, they breathed a sigh of relief.

"Holy shit," Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "What the hell did Booth do this time?"

Angela shrugged and shifted her weight to one hip, trying in vain to ease the pressure that Hodgie-Junior was inflicting on her sciatica nerve. "She says she didn't sleep well," the artist stared at the now-closed glass door. "She insisted it has nothing to do with Booth…"

Jack laughed out loud, turning back towards his office. "It _always_ has to do with Booth when she's like this…" He motioned across the lab to Wendell, asking him to meet in the Ookey Room. The impish entomologist wanted to review an experiment idea he'd been kicking around for a while, and since they had some downtime without an active case, it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Realizing her friend needed the necessary space to come to her own conclusions, Angela nodded at Jack's remark and grumbled. "Yeah, but I wish she'd get her head outta her ass long enough to see it and admit to it…" Returning to her own studio, she opened the file for a prototype facial recognition program she was working on, determined to locate the bug that was stopping her system from working. Setting an internal timer, she promised herself to invade her BFF's personal space again and absconding her for lunch later that day.

B/B/B/B

Booth was already hating his detail. Three hours out on the street and not a peep from the target properties in which the perps were suspected to be hiding. His cell vibrated in the front pocket of his jeans and, despite the aggravating circumstances, he stifled a smile. While leaning against the corner of an old brownstone building, pretending to be reading the newspaper, he extracted the phone and saw her message.

 _It's raining here_ : she was feeling down, worried and anxious to hear from him.

He thumbed his reply quickly.

 _It's always sunny in Philadelphia:_ he was fine; as long as it was sunny, that meant he was safe. He grinned and let his eyes shift behind the dark sunglasses, taking in his surroundings, certain she didn't even know there was a TV show of that title. His own little game, sometimes, trying to find ways of working pop culture into their various conversations.

This time, she surprised him.

 _I like that show._

He sent a little sunshine emoticon and pocketed his phone again, not wanting to risk another agent spotting him as he broke protocol and communicated outside the detail. He folded up his newspaper and tucked it under his arm as he moved to sit on a city bench near a bus stop. It was noon; that meant one of the other visiting agents would be on the next arriving bus to take over the brownstone post, and he could finally go take a piss and grab some grub at Jimmy's, a legendary Philly cheese steak joint on South Street, before he took up his new position two blocks away. Of course, before moving to his new hole, he'd have to hook up with his local liaison to swap out his leather coat and sunglasses for a green army jacket and a well worn fatigue cap.

Purposely ignoring his relief agent when the man exited the bus, Booth stepped aside and waited his turn to board. Sitting in the back, he took up two seats by propping his leg across the vacant spot next to him and nonchalantly looked at the target buildings as they drove past, until he could no longer see them without making it obvious that he was watching.

Booth's earpiece was still live, as was the mic hidden in his collar, so he couldn't call Brennan, but as the bus traveled towards his next stop, he pulled his phone out again, seeing that she sent a reply emoticon.

The sunset emoticon. She knew their cryptic communication was over until their next prearranged time.

B/B/B/B

After learning that Booth was okay, the scientist felt inexplicably better. It made no logical sense to associate her anxiety with Booth's absence. They had been apart without communication on countless occasions, especially when she traveled for an excavation or anthropological study. There was no reason to believe any harm would come to him from a simple surveillance assignment, and yet, she felt as though a physical weight had been removed from her shoulders. Briefly, she wondered if these sensations were the ones that Booth harped on her about whenever she was out of the country and he could not reach her. Almost as quickly as the thought entered her mind, she dismissed it with an eye roll.

 _Of course not,_ she told herself, _Booth is a typical alpha-male and far too over-protective. He has what Sweets would refer to as 'control issues'_ …

Re-focusing on the remains of a civil war soldier prepared for examination on her stainless steel table, the brilliant doctor found renewed energy to complete the task at hand. When she suspected an intrusion was about to happen, (once she heard the sounds of Angela's distinctive gait echoing down the stairwell that would ultimately spit the artist out six feet from where she was working), she moved to the computer to make some final notes before stopping for lunch.

"Alright, Bren," Angela braced herself for an argument, squaring her shoulders and fixing a stern look on her face. "I don't know what's got your panties in a bunch, but look," she shifted her weight to one hip and fisted her hand on her other one. "You are going to _stop_ what you're doing," she pointed to the examination table before pointing back to the floor directly in front of herself, "and come with me to lunch." When Brennan seemed to ignore not only her sudden appearance but also her outright order, Angela drew a deep breath. " _Now_! I mean it, Bren. You can't just -"

"Alright," Brennan agreed, turning away from the computer monitor with a pleasant expression. Pulling off her gloves, completely oblivious to her friend's annoyance, she tossed them in the trashcan and looked back at Angela. "I was just thinking that I should eat. It's lunchtime, after all," she paused, thinking about how often Booth admonishes her about not eating, "and since I _did_ skip breakfast…" With her eyebrow arched and a small smile, she shrugged a little while she waited for the artist to close her suddenly gaping mouth. "Ange? Are you ok?" Her grin faltered as Angela remained frozen in place. "Oh, my… You're not going into labor, are you? It's far too early for the baby to be born," she moved forward, stretching her hand out in preparation to touch Angela's swollen belly.

"Wha-" Angela shook her head, as if clearing cobwebs. "What did you just say?" Before Brennan could reply, she answered the question that was hanging in the air. "Wait… What? No, of course not," she wrapped her own arm around her belly. "Of course I'm not in labor. I'm just hungry…"

"Well, then," Brennan whisked past her, going towards the stairwell. "We should go. You don't want the fetus to suffer from malnutrition."

" _Baby_ , Brennan, it's a _baby_." She rolled her eyes. " _Not_ fetus…" She spun on her heel, baffled and confused by her best friend's unusually agreeable demeanor. Following the scientist upstairs, Angela studied Brennan's posture silently, her forehead creased in bewilderment. When the anthropologist reached the top of the stairs, she held the heavy glass door open for her friend, who was lagging behind. "Are you certain you feel like going out to lunch, Ange? We could order delivery and eat in the lounge. Or in my office…"

"No," Angela walked through the door. "I'd like to go to the diner." Again, she looked warily at Brennan. "Are _you_ certain you're ready to stop for lunch?"

"Oh, definitely," she nodded and fell into step, pacing herself slower to walk beside her slightly-waddling friend. "There are times I become so absorbed that I don't realize I'm hungry… And I'm certain Booth would be less than pleased if he knew I skipped both meals…"

That did it. Brennan was being far too compliant, and was entirely too eager to leave the lab. "OK," Angela stopped suddenly, grabbing Brennan's arm and forcing her to stop as well. "What the hell is going on?"

Eyeing her longtime best friend with an unreadable expression, the anthropologist shook her head. "I don't know what you mean."

"Bullshit." Once again, the artist's hands went to her hips, challenging Brennan to deny it again. "You never agree to leave for lunch on the first mention of it." She threw her arms out to her side. "I mean, I had an entire speech prepared, an argument for and against stopping for sustenance… I even told Cam I'd need an extended break today because I'd be fighting with you to stop working…"

Brennan thought Angela looked genuinely upset that she had agreed to eat with her, but she didn't fully understand. "So you _don't_ want to go eat now?" She asked carefully, dipping her chin and raising her eyebrows, wondering if she might be right.

"Of _course_ I wanna go eat!" She tilted her head back and looked up at the skylights, thinking about all her cravings. "I want fries," she sighed and looked back at Brennan. "And onion rings." Once again, she gripped Brennan's arm and directed her towards their offices. "And _meat_ ," she almost growled. "I want a burger…"

"Then we should go to the diner…"

"Exactly! But you're not supposed to agree so readily!"

"You would, instead, like me to tell you the negative effects of eating fried foods while pregnant with Hodgins' prodigy?" Brennan thought it was odd that the carefree woman would want a dietary lesson, but if that's what she wanted… With a shrug, she spoke as they walked. "Or perhaps you would prefer if I remind you of healthier options…"

" _No_! I want fries!" She folded her arms across her chest when they reached Brennan's office and she grabbed her coat from the rack. "What I want is my best friend back! I don't know what's wrong with you today! Why aren't you arguing?"

Feeling outrageously outside of her comfort zone, Brennan halted with only one arm in her jacket. "You...are feeling…" She tried to hone in on her observational skills to see if she could correctly identify Angela's mood. "Confrontational!" She raised her forefinger triumphantly. "It's a typical emotion brought on by your pregnancy hormones." Brennan was quite proud of herself and she smiled. "And you wish to... _argue_ with me?"

"Oh my God," Angela sighed in exasperation and turned away, walking towards her own office to gather her purse and coat. If they were in a sci-fi movie, she was certain that they'd later find out an alien being had burrowed into her friend's head and taken up residence…

Trailing after the suddenly-fast-walking pregnant woman, Brennan almost trotted. "Wait, Ange! I can argue with you if that's what you want… I just didn't understand at first… I am still not as skilled as Booth in reading people's feelings..." Shaking her head, Brennan sighed and slowed her pace once Angela made it back to her office and was pulling on her coat. _Pregnancy hormones_ … She rolled her eyes again. _I blame the hormones for making Angela confrontational_.

B/B/B/B

Booth's afternoon crawled along at a painfully slow rate. After his text conversation with Brennan, he felt a little better, but was worried about his partner. She had indicated through her cryptic words, that she was feeling down, and he didn't like it when she wasn't herself. The fact that she had been the one to initiate the text, however, gave him hope that she was at least thinking about him.

After he savored a mouth-watering classic Philly cheese-steak at Jimmy's and changed his undercover clothes, he took up residence a few blocks down from where he'd been camped out earlier in the day. Wearing a Steelers sweatshirt beneath a weathered Army jacket, he pulled his cap low and bought a bag of chips, a can of Pepsi and a magazine from a sidewalk vendor before choosing a spot that was simultaneously out of the wind and within viewing distance of his target. His earpiece crackled shortly before he expected his relief to show, bringing a sigh to his lips.

"Dispatch to 4470 and 9921"

Booth replied, "4470 here."

His counterpart up two blocks, who'd replaced him earlier, also replied. "9921."

"Code four on the Code five. Report back to base."

Booth grinned. The stakeout was cancelled. He didn't know why, he didn't _care_ why. He just cared that it was done. One day was long enough, the idea of having to do all the same unproductive shit wearing different clothes the next day made him want to put a fork in his eye. He tossed his trash into the garbage and moved to the curb, waiting for the transport car to pick him up.

Back at headquarters, the Special Agent swapped out his borrowed clothes for his own street clothes and was in the middle of completing his paperwork when he realized the time - nearly five-thirty. He pulled out his phone and quickly sent Brennan a thumbs up emoticon.

Almost immediately, he received a response, indicative that she was waiting to hear from him.

Her answer was simple, telling him that she was in a relatively good mood. It was a happy face and a skull. _Happy Bones_. Booth chuckled to himself as he thought back to the evening they spent figuring out their codes and ways they could communicate when one or both was otherwise incommunicado.

" _Booth, this is ridiculous. Why can't we just use our words?"_ She looked at him like he was crazy when he was making suggestions about the use of emoticons and vague references to their surroundings.

" _Because, Bones. If I'm in trouble, like if I've been taken hostage or somethin', and you send me a text that says 'Hey Booth, How are things on your super-secret mission'_ , he rolled his eyes, _you better believe my captors are gunna make me tell you I'm fine, and_ _then_ _they're gunna make me tell them about_ _you_ _."_ He pointed at her, invading her personal space the way he often did when he wanted to make a point. " _Just trust me on this, will ya?_ "

Quickly, he sent back a little telephone and a clock, telling her he will call her later. Once he finished completing his paperwork and had a final meeting with the local Suits, he headed out, planning to make one stop before hitting the road and heading back to DC.

B/B/B/B

Despite having her day interrupted by an absurdly extended lunch break, Brennan had managed to accomplish quite a bit. Pleased with the progress she'd made after returning to the lab, Brennan spent a few reflective moments replaying the lengthy conversation between herself and Angela as she carefully and methodically packed away the remains of one Private Anthony J. Harrison, formerly of Salem County, New Jersey, yet another seventeen year old victim she'd successfully identified from one of the many Civil War battles for which there were countless remains still to be examined.

Sighing, she took a sip from her to-go cup, which she'd brought from the diner, where she'd been all but held hostage, enduring countless questions from Angela about why she'd hidden herself in Limbo from the time she stormed into the office. During their break, the artist had the nerve to indicate that Brennan had been temperamental that morning, whereas it was perfectly clear that the pregnancy hormones surging through her system had, quite obviously, skewed the artist's objective eye, leaving _her_ to be the moody member of their team. Nevertheless, Angela pressed on, prodding Brennan for the reason she'd started her day by entering the lab in a 'flurry of frustration and a pissy mood,' _her words exactly_ , and then suddenly, by lunchtime, was far more agreeable than usual. Brennan had, of course, denied being in a foul demeanor when she began work that morning, finally explaining that she was taking advantage of Booth's out of town assignment to focus on the work for which the Jeffersonian had originally contracted her.

 _Booth's out of town? What did this happen?_ Angela's spidey-senses were instantly alert.

 _He left this morning,_ the anthropologist answered with poorly-hidden annoyance. _He had to go to Philadelphia. It was determined that he needed to report alone, my attendance was not required._

Angela sat back in her seat and eyed her friend carefully. _And when will he be back?_

 _Saturday or Sunday if everything goes as planned_ … Brennan sipped her iced tea, a resurgence of concern building in her chest. Swallowing her worry along with her beverage, she looked at her friend and colleague with what she hoped was an emotionless mask. _He has to do surveillance… They needed someone with experience, and someone who could, as he put it, blend in…_ Glancing down at the table nervously, she avoided eye contact. _I guess I don't have the skill set they were looking for. I just hope that nothing happens to change the situation from recon to confrontational_ …

Understanding immediately, Angela felt bad for her awkward friend. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the table. _He'll be alright, Sweetie. Maybe you two can talk later, after he is off duty._

 _Oh, we already talked… Well, we texted._

 _I thought he wasn't allowed to have outside contact when he was on undercover assignment..._

 _He's not. But ever since, you know_. She shrugged, still not looking at the intuitive artist. _Well, ever since that time, he always lets me know he's alright_.

Aah, now Angela knew what happened… _When did you last hear from him?_

 _A little before noon_ , Brennan took a spoonful of her mushroom soup, savoring the rich creaminess as the warmth spread through her chest. _I texted him first._ _But_ , she stressed, _it was during a prearranged, agreed-upon time-frame._

Angela nodded knowingly, forgiving her friend for the misbehavior she'd exhibited that morning. Before she could say anything more, Brennan offered a little additional detail that Ange wasn't expecting.

 _I had invited him to come to the lecture with me tomorrow night… I thought that_ , she licked her lips nervously at her own willingness to share. _Well, I thought he might've enjoy it._

 _Bren, that's great news! You two seem to be spending a lot of your free time together again…_ Angela didn't dare get her hopes too high about the partners ever getting their shit together, and, truth be told, the free-spirited woman was still uncertain whether or not _she_ had actually forgiven Booth for the whole Hannah-debacle. But she had to admit that seeing Brennan's face light up whenever she and Booth had plans, no matter how menial, fed the hopeless-romantic that lived inside the pregnant artist.

She shrugged, as if it was no big deal. _He can't come, he will still be in Philly. I was thinking about asking Charles if he would like to attend. I had already purchased Booth's ticket, not expecting him to decline._

Angela panicked a little. _**Charles**_ _?_ Her eyebrows arched towards her hairline. _Do you mean boring-ass-I-have-more-PhD's-than-you-Charles-from-Ancient-Roman-Empire-Charles?!_

Brennan wrinkled her brow. _Charles Britain, yes, from the Roman Studies department… You really think he's boring?_

 _Oh my God, Brennan. YES, he is boring. And Arrogant, with a capital A. You can't take him._

 _But Booth said no. And I already have-_

 _Take me. I want to go._

 _You?_ Brennan looked at her friend in disbelief.

 _Besides_ , Angela ignored Brennan's look of confusion, _it's not like Booth said no that he didn't_ _want_ _to go, right? It was because he_ _couldn't_ _go. There's a difference._

 _I don't think you'll enjoy -_

 _I'll love it. Trust me, Sweetie. You can't take Charles… Or any other man, for that matter. You're taking me._

 _Uh_ , she sipped her drink and wondered if, once again, Angela's hormones were going metaphorically haywire. _Oh-kaaay…_ She responded slowly as she drank her iced tea, eyeing the dark-haired woman over the rim of her glass.

As Brennan closed and sealed the lid on Private Anthony J. Harrison's bone casket, she made a mental note to research abnormal behavior in women during the early stages of the third trimester. Committing a series of numbers to memory, she turned to the computer and entered several specs for the box of remains that she would prepare to have shipped back to New Jersey, to be officially presented to the surviving family, who was already on record as having searched for information of their ancestor.

When her phone rang, she answered without checking the caller ID and, as soon as she heard his voice, glanced at the clock and felt a wave of anxiety wash over her.

"Hey, Bones," he said simply, as if it were any other day.

"Booth, what's the matter? What happened?"

"Bones, nothing's wrong, why does something have to be wrong?"

"Because it's only seven-thirty. And you're not suppose to call until nine."

Grinning as he wove through the familiar city streets that he used to frequent as a youth, he spotted the store he was hoping would still be in business. "Everything's fine, Bones. The gig was called off this afternoon. I just got done at the Philly office and I'm gunna make one stop before heading back home."

"Oh." She sat down on the stool in front of the computer station. "So that means you'll be back at work tomorrow?"

"Yep. I'll need to see Cullen in the morning, to discuss some stuff that was brought up today in our debrief, about some agency swaps, but other than that, I'll be on desk duty wrapping up those cases I left hanging when I left last night."

"I guess you're happy about that, right? I know you become bored quickly when you're on an observation-only-stakeout."

"Damn right I'm happy. Hate those things." He pulled into a parallel parking spot and put his agency tag in the window so he wouldn't have to put money into the meter. Glancing in the rear view and side mirrors, he ensured no traffic was coming before opened the driver's door. "Especially if I gotta sit around by myself. I'm much more amused when we do stake outs together. Having you with me always makes the time go better."

Brennan couldn't have stifled the flattered grin if she tried. It was probably the best thing he could've have said to her, shedding a bright white light on his feelings with regards to their partnership. "Well, I'm glad it was called off early, then, for your own sake." Thinking for a moment, she thought about her conversation with Angela. "So you'll be home tomorrow night, then…?"

"Sure will," Booth felt himself fall into an easy swagger as he walked north on South Street. "That's what I was gunna check with you about… Is, um," he was suddenly nervous about the possible answer. "Is your invitation still open for the lecture tomorrow night?" He was only remotely interested in _A New Perspective and Modern Focus on Ancient Warfare_ , but he was definitely interested in spending a Friday evening with his partner…

Chewing on her bottom lip, she paused, wondering what the socially appropriate solution would be in this case. "Well," she hemmed and hawed, not quite sure how to answer.

Interpreting her reluctance to reply as a ' _no'_ , he backed out, apologizing for the assumption that she might still want him to accompany her. "Hey, you know what? It's ok if you already found someone else to go. Maybe I'll be able to join you the next time, huh?" He paused outside the store he was looking for, glancing at the window displays, happy to see their unique stock was still standard. He wanted to ease any sort of guilt she might feel at having to _un_ invite him, as he knew it was entirely possible that she may've already reached out to one of her many brainy colleagues.

"Well, I considered asking Charles if he would like your seat, but then-"

" _Charles_? Stick-up-his-ass-Greek-mythology-Charles?" He was unnerved to think that she had already moved on to inviting a _guy_. And just just any ol' guy, either. Nope, Charles was a full-fledged prick. An arrogant, egotistical, pain-in-the-ass guy who didn't even deserve to stand in the same room as his partner.

Rolling her eyes at Booth's exaggerated and inaccurate description of her Jeffersonian colleague, she wondered if any of her friends liked the other man. "Booth, he is in charge of Roman History Studies, not Greek mythology…"

"Greeks, Romans, they're all the same, Bones..." He found himself pacing outside the store, agitated that Charles was moving in on his girl. _Okay, so Bones isn't my girl yet,_ he felt his shoulders tense as he shoved his free hand into his coat pocket. _But that doesn't matter, dammit… That's nothin' but semantics..._ What mattered to Booth was that they had been talking, and spending time together, and going out on dates. _Yes, dates, God dammit._ Dates that weren't real-dates, but they were more-like-dates-than-most-dates-he'd-been-on-kinda-dates.

"Booth, the Greeks and the Romans were most _certainly_ not the same… First of all, they aren't even from the same countries… The Greeks hailed from Greece while the Romans were fr-"

He cut her off. "Yeah, yeah, I know Bones. They're still the same thing… Look, why are you taking _him_? I thought you got bored with him when he just kept talking about his thirteenth PhD that time…"

"It was his _third_ , Booth," she rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. My point, Bones," he rolled his eyes skyward and sighed heavily when she interrupted him.

"If you would let me speak without interruption, I could explain to you that I am _not_ taking him…"

"Oh," he stilled his nervous fidgets and listened. "But I thought you said…"

"I said I had _considered_ asking him, Booth. But then Angela expressed an interest in attending, so I am going to take Angela, instead. But if you would still like to go, I can talk to Angela and see if she would mind _not_ attending…"

"Oh," he felt one side of his mouth tug upward. "So… You're taking Ange? That's cool," he felt worlds better. "No, don't change your plans. Maybe you and I can do something else this weekend."

Happy that she wouldn't have to spoil Angela's obvious, _though admittedly surprising_ , interest in _A New Perspective and Modern Focus on Ancient Warfare_ , Brennan nodded, even though Booth couldn't see her. "That sounds acceptable, Booth."

"Yeah," he nodded once, shaking his shoulders and cracking his neck as if eliminating the tension that had set in immediately at the mention of Charles-Friggin'-Asshole-Britain. "Well, listen, I gotta go, Bones. I need to make a stop and then I'm gunna hit the road. I'll give you a call tomorrow, m'k?"

"Drive careful, Booth."

B/B/B/B

Brennan was at the lab early the next morning, wading through an endless stack of student papers requiring her attention. When Angela finally interrupted the anthropologist at half past eleven, Brennan stood and stretched her back, surprised that she had been in the same position for so long.

"Hey, Bren, you wanna go to lunch again today? I know you have a lot of work, so I promise I won't keep you away from the lab for long…"

Raising her eyebrows, she shook her head. "I can't, Ange. I'm meeting Booth. He called me earlier."

Moving over to the seat across from her friend's desk, Angela slowly sat down. "I thought he was going to be out of town until tomorrow or Sunday?"

Taking a drink of water, Brennan walked around the desk and sat down next to Angela. Before she could elaborate, a knock at the door interrupted the ladies. Turning, they saw Charles Britain standing in the open door frame, looking smug as he waited wordlessly for Angela to leave. When the forensic artist didn't make a move, he looked pointedly at Brennan.

"Good morning, Temperance," he ignored the artist. "I wonder if I might have a word?"

"Good morning, Dr. Britain." Brennan's tone was cold and clinical, and she remained seated as she greeted him by his full title. Having taken into consideration that both of her best friends seemed to equally despise the man, she had spent quite a bit of time the evening before thinking back over several years of interactions she'd had with her museum colleague while in the presence of Booth or Angela, or anyone else for that matter. Shockingly, and in light of the appalled reactions she'd received from her friends, the scientist realized that Charles had been more than a little dismissive of her team in the Medico-Legal Lab, and especially of her partnership with the FBI. That she had been so blind to Charles' deplorable behavior previously was disconcerting, but she had already planned to discuss her feelings with Booth once they had time to talk. "What can I do for you?"

His eyes barely flickering at Angela, he pinned Brennan with an intense expression. "I'd like to speak to you alone, please."

"Well, I'm very busy. If you have something you wish to discuss that cannot be discussed in front of my colleague, we can make an appointment so I can offer you the attention you desire." She was making it hard for him on purpose, having become angered when she remembered an insult he had passed at one point about Booth's intelligence level and lack of academic degrees. Picking up her date book, she flipped through several pages and finally glanced back at the PhD. "I have a thirty minute slot available one week from Tuesday. Would you like me to pencil you in?"

His brow creasing, the slightly older man grew agitated. "Temperance, I-"

"As we are in a professional setting, Dr. Britain, I would prefer that you address me by my title. Like you, I worked hard to earn it, and prefer to maintain a certain level of professionalism among associates. I'm sure you understand." Not giving him a chance to recover, she plowed on. "Now, would you like to schedule that appointment or shall I look for something the following week?"

"No, I," he licked his lips nervously, unsure what had happened to the easy rapport he thought he had with the attractive anthropologist. "Well, that is to say -"

" _Please_ , Dr. Britain, I'm in the middle of a meeting, here." Brennan was becoming irritated as yet another flash of a previous conversation with him passed through her memory. He had insulted Angela that time, accusing the artist of being second-rate because she did not graduate from a program he had deemed worthy enough to result in her employment by the Jeffersonian.

Taking a deep breath, he just blurted out the question. "I was wanting to invite you to a lecture this evening. I am sure you would find it an invigorating topic. It's _A New Perspective and Modern Focus on Ancient Warfare_." He tilted his head, trying to continue ignoring Angela as she chuckled darkly at his discomfort.

"I already have tickets for the lecture, Dr. Britain. I've had them for more than a week, now."

"Oh, wonderful," he grew awkwardly animated. "Perhaps afterwards, we could have coffee. I recently had a very rare blend imported from South America. I would like to invite you to come back to my house and I'll brew a pot. We can compare our opinions post-lecture." Frankly, he was hoping to finally get into bed with the scientist. The last time they had attended a function after which they were going to go back to her apartment, that blasted FBI Agent showed up at the lecture hall and whisked her away before the evening could get underway. He was certain, had Booth not appeared, he and Brennan would have ended up in bed together.

"No thank you." Brennan offered no reason for her decline and simply waited for him to leave.

"I," he tilted his head again, this time in the opposite direction. "Well, if you don't want coffee, I could introduce you to a new variety of tea, which was gifted to me by a visiting scholar from India…"

"Dr. Britain, I have plans this evening after the lecture. Thank you for the invitation, anyway." She sat back in her seat, holding her water in both hands. "Now, if there is nothing else…"

Angela could only watch in amazement as her socially clumsy pal metaphorically smacked down an obvious invitation for a booty-call. When Britain turned away, stunned into confused silence, she turned her dark eyes back to Brennan. "What the _hell_ was that?"

"I think he was propositioning me, Angela… I'm surprised you didn't realize that. This pregnancy has really affected your observational skills…"

" _Not that_ , of course that was a proposition, a blind man could see that. I'm talking about," she waved her open hand in a large circle in the air, as if circling Brennan's whole body, "all of that. You and I didn't make plans for after the lecture. What was that all about?"

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "Well, after hearing your negative reaction to the idea of me inviting Charles to accompany me, and then Booth's out-of-proportion eruption, I explored the reasons behind my two best friends opposing my plans…"

"You told _Booth_?" Angela's jaw dropped, and in the matter of a split second, a whirlwind of visions flashed behind her eyes, all of which involved Booth's angry jaw ticking and the vein in his temple throbbing.

She nodded. "Of course. He was less than pleased with the idea. But was quickly assuaged when I told him you were interested in going."

"Well," Angela thought quick. "Does that mean you already _un_ invited Booth?"

"Yes. I was going to see about getting a third ticket if he wanted to join us, but he suggested instead, that he and I get together this weekend."

"Oh," she forced herself to sound deflated and hoped to the universe that her face didn't give away her impish excitement. "Well, I was going to tell you at lunch, but since we're not going to lunch together, I'll tell you now…" She worked hard to look sad.

"Ange? What's wrong?" Brennan was concerned for her friend.

"I won't be able to go tonight, Bren. I forgot, Hodgie and I, we have this… _thing_."

"What thing?"

"For the baby. It's a thing-a-majig…" _What the hell do we have?_ Her panicked mind whirled. _What the hell can I claim to have forgotten?_ "Lamaze class!"

"Oh." It was Brennan's turn to wrinkle her brow. "I thought you didn't start those until next month?"

"It's an introduction class… Mandatory. We paid for it…"

"I see." Brennan got the distinct feeling that her friend was lying, but without empirical evidence, she couldn't prove it.

"But since Booth is back in town, and you're going to see him for lunch, you can _re_ -invite him! I'm sure he'll be more than happy to escort you!" _Calm down_ , she told herself, _don't sound so eager_ …. _I gotta get out of this office, I'm going to blow it_ …. "I," _ooh, fake a kick from the kid, yeah, that'll work_. "Oooh, wow, Hodgie Jr. is sure active. I have to walk, Bren." She pushed up from the seat in a hurry. "He's going to be active like Jack… He doesn't like it if I sit for too long…."

"Um, ok…" Brennan stuttered as she stood and followed Angela towards the door just as her cell phone rang; it was Booth's designated ringtone. "I," she grabbed the phone from the desk and watched as Angela waddled out of the office as quickly as she could. Calling out after her retreating friend, she wished her well. "I hope you feel better, Angela!"

B/B/B/B

As Booth dressed for the evening, he thought about his luck. He was supposed to he stuck on a shitty-ass assignment tonight, but by some miraculous intervention, the surveillance managed to get cancelled. Then, right after Brennan admitted that she was planning to offer his ticket to Charles-Dickwad-Britain, she relieved him with the unlikely news that Angela, _of all people_ , had suddenly expressed an interest in _A New Perspective and Modern Focus on Ancient Warfare_. Then, in an another unusual turn of events, the meticulous artist suddenly forgot she and Jack had a meeting that night, and lo and behold, Brennan asked him again, to accompany her to the lecture. At this point, he didn't give two shits about the topic of discussion - it could have been about _**the historical significance of tofu on modern day society**_ and he wouldn't have cared, he still would have gone, if for no other reason than to spend time with her.

His FBI Special Agent senses suddenly went into full alert… Angela didn't forget things like baby doctor appointments or birthing class schedules. She was particular even before she got pregnant, but since conception, even he had noticed an increase in her attention to details and an almost obsessive need for control. Someone with those traits didn't forget Lamaze Classes that are scheduled on a Friday night…

 _Nope… Angela did this on purpose_ … He spoke aloud to his reflection and with a cocky smirk, he decided that when he went to the lab in Monday, he'd take a little bouquet of carnations to their 'Cupid-in-a-poorly-hidden-disguise.'

For this night, however, Booth had to concentrate.

He had things to say to his partner, some apologies and amends to make. He glanced at the gift sitting on his bed as he applied his cologne. It was wrapped in nondescript brown craft paper and wrapped with twine, _and hopefully_ , a present that Brennan would appreciate and, more importantly, something that she'd simply _like_. Glancing at his watch, he hummed and congratulated himself on getting ready in record time. He felt nervous, though it made no sense. They had attended countless lectures, meetings and social gatherings side-by-side, and he had never felt this level of unwarranted anxiety building up in his abdomen. Chalking it up to a lack of rest and a rudely disrupted week of work, he shrugged on his jacket, took one final look at himself in the mirror and turned to leave, sliding the package into his inside pocket as he moved. He had twenty minutes before she was expecting him to pick her up, so he was in no rush, but that didn't stop him from breaking nearly every speed law between their apartments until he was parked in front of her building.

B/B/B/B

Brennan pulled her hair up and then decided against it, pulling the pins out and letting the loose curls fall across her shoulders. She huffed in frustration with herself. There was no need to be anxious about attending the lecture with Booth that evening. They had been to more functions together than she could count, and never before had she felt this level of nervousness. Running her fingers through the now-loose tendrils, she thought about how much she had changed since first meeting Booth. Before her mind could travel too far back into their conjoined history, however, her musings were shattered by a series of familiar, sharp raps at her front door. With a final glance in the mirror, she nodded in silent approval of her costume, _outfit_ , she reminded herself with a pair of mental air quotations. A simple pair of black slim line pants, a midnight blue button-down blouse and her black boots - nothing fancy, but, if she knew Booth as well as she thought she did, there was no doubt in her mind that he'd approve of her appearance. As his impatient knocking grew louder, she laughed and moved down the hall, calling out to him as she went.

"Patience, Booth!" She unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door, grinning at his hand, which was poised at the ready to start knocking again. "Are you going to hit my forehead now?"

Laughing out loud, he lowered his hand. "Of course not, Bones." He winked playfully. "I'd never do that." He entered her apartment at her invitation and closed the door behind himself, letting his eyes drift down just long enough to admire the view as she walked away from him.

"I just need to get my scarf," she called over her shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Appreciative of the form-fitted style of her pants, Booth felt one side of his mouth tug upward. "Yeah, uh," he licked his lips, which felt suddenly dry. "Sure. Take your time, Bones."

She disappeared into her bedroom and quickly rejoined him, looping a black and silver scarf around her neck. "The temperature is supposed to drop again later tonight," she mentioned as she slipped her arms through the coat that Booth held out for her.

"Yep, there's a cold front coming in this weekend." Booth had to force himself to step backwards, as he very nearly reached around her from behind to button up the jacket. Someday he hoped to be able to complete such a natural feeling action, but for now, he knew they were far, far from that point in their friendship.

B/B/B/B

Brennan stood among the crowd waiting to enter the lecture hall at American University, glancing around while anticipating for Booth to join her. He had dropped her off to grab a place in line while he went to park the truck, seeing that there was a considerably larger crowd than they'd originally expected.

"Temperance, so good to see you made it."

Brennan was startled when she heard Charles Britain standing so close behind her. Spinning around, she eyed him curiously. "Why do you sound so surprised, Dr. Britain? I told you this afternoon that I had already procured tickets to this evening's lecture…"

"Please," he leaned towards her, invading her personal space and forcing her to lean away. "We are not in your office surrounded by your subordinates, there is no need to keep up false, professional appearances. It's been years since you stopped calling me _Dr_. Britain..."

"My office is not populated with my subordinates, Dr. Britain. My team and I are colleagues, co-workers, counterparts even. Booth once equated us to a finely tuned engine in which all of the parts are imperative in order for it to run smoothly."

"Oh, and your Agent Booth would know all about how an engine works, wouldn't he…" Charles rolled his eyes in sarcasm. "Temperance, _really_ , you give far too much credence to the things he tells you. He's manipulative."

Anger sparking in her eyes, she straightened and all but physically pushed Charles further away. "The comparison was quite appropriate, in my opinion, because if you were to take away even one of us, the whole machine stops running…" She took a quick breath. "And your tendency to demean those with whom I work, and the jobs we perform in association with the FBI, is unwelcome and I find that I no longer wish to associate with individuals who disrespect me." Squaring her shoulders, she leaned even further towards the professor and silently enjoyed the scared look on his face. Curling her lips into a menacing expression, she spoke quietly. "And you should be thanking your lucky moons that Booth didn't hear you say that about him… He could break off a pop can in your ass…"

Finally appearing at her side, the agent smirked, having listened to part of the conversation as he approached from slightly off to her side. Placing an open palm on Brennan's back, he felt her relax under his touch. "Hey there, _Chuck_ ," he pinned the man with a cold glare and let his city street slang seep through. "Bones here is right... you better thank your lucky _stars_ I don't pop a cap in your ass…"

Instantly feeling better with her partner at her side, Brennan leaned towards him a little, welcoming the warmth that somehow radiated from his hand through the layered materials of her coat and blouse. "Booth, we should go ahead in and get our seats." She purposely turned away from a Britain and faced the handsome profile of the only man she ever allowed to touch her on his terms rather than hers.

"Yeah," he happily guided her away from the stuffy man who was, by then, standing with his mouth gaping open. "I don't wanna sit down in front, though, Bones." He adjusted the pressure on her back as they walked. Pulling the wool coat from her shoulders as they entered the hall and she handed their entrance tickets over to the gate keeper, he draped it over his arm with his own. "I don't like sitting down there. Let's sit up top."

B/B/B/B

"You wanna grab some coffee?" Booth cranked the heat up in the SUV, rubbing his hands together as he blew on them. "It's damn cold out there."

"Actually," Brennan shifted in her seat as she chewed her bottom lip, somewhat shyly. "I was going to suggest," she shrugged and spoke quickly, as if she was afraid that if she didn't say it, she'd chicken out. "That is… If you're not in a huge rush to get home, maybe you'd like to come up to my apartment? I tried a new recipe…for a dessert that I thought you might enjoy…" She grinned. "It's a triple chocolate mousse cake…" She didn't realize she was holding her breath until he smiled and nodded.

"Wow, Bones." He smiled at her, feeling a mixture of surprise and adoration. "That sounds amazing."

She breathed a sigh of relief and curled her lips crookedly. "Well, I had planned to make it for when you had Parker; I thought if the three of us did something, we could have dessert afterwards… But when plans for tonight just kind of fell into place," she shrugged again, not wanting to make a big deal, but at the same time, not quite ready for their evening to end. "I thought maybe we could test the recipe first."

"Sounds delicious, Bones," he nodded to her seat belt, waiting for her to buckle up. "Let's vamoose. I'm suddenly famished."

B/B/B/B

When they entered Brennan's apartment, Booth helped Brennan with her coat before removing his own. He removed his suit jacket as well, reaching into the inside pocket and nonchalantly extracting the package he'd carried there all evening. It wasn't large, it was just slightly bigger than a deck of index cards, but he really hoped she would like the contents. As she walked away, heading into the kitchen, he diverted quickly and deposited the box on the end table in the living room until he found the right moment.

"Do you want Irish Coffee, Booth? Or just regular?" She called out to him and then suddenly felt him enter the room behind her.

"Irish would probably go well with the chocolate cake, right?"

She nodded. "That's what I was thinking…"

He smirked. "I'll grab the whiskey," he circled back into the living room. Opening a cabinet that he hadn't accessed for more than a year, he momentarily wondered if she still used the same one for her bar items. With a grin at her tendency for maintaining habits, he found what he was looking for and carried the bottle back into the kitchen. "Y'know, when me and Jared were kids, Pops used to let us sip his whiskey on cold nights, just as long as we didn't tell Grams." He chuckled at the memory. "He used to say it would ward off the cold…"

Brennan nodded as she prepared the coffee mugs. "I used to work with a German woman who once told me her mother used to warm red wine and spice it with a cinnamon stick, and even as a child, she would drink it as hot as she could stand it, to also ward off the cold weather…"

Booth poured the liquor as he listened to her, a sense of comfort and ease seeping into his soul as their proximity felt so natural. When he turned and spotted the cake she removed from the refrigerator, his mouth practically salivated. "Oh my God, that looks incredible, Bones." Without thinking, he stepped close behind her and peered over her shoulder, absently resting a hand on her hip.

Instantly, Brennan felt a rush of heat engulf her body, but much to her surprise, it was not unwelcome. Somewhere deep inside, she had been longing to feel him close to her again, and while they'd been working side by side since their respective returns to Washington, she had missed the kind of closeness that she felt in this kind of quiet setting. Not wanting to let her partner see the way she was affected, she just chuckled in response.

"Well," she turned and glanced at him, flushing at how close their faces were when he also turned, so he could listen. Her voice grew quiet "When I saw the recipe in one of Angela's magazines, I immediately thought of you…"

Unable to stop himself, Booth simply squeezed her hip and then let go, not wanting to upset her by being too tactile. "Thanks, Bones." He backed away slightly and nodded at the homemade dessert. "If it tastes half as good as it looks, we're in trouble." He turned around grabbed two plates from the cabinet while she started cutting into the tempting dessert.

The partners carried their drinks and cake into the living room, falling into a familiar, comfortable routine that mirrored countless evenings they'd spent together for years. The conversation was easy and after Booth finished a second piece of cake, refills of their Irish Coffee eventually led way to simple shots of whiskey.

Booth was enjoying the casual banter that had been absent from their partnership for far too long and he let his head loll back against the couch and he smiled warmly, letting the multiple shots of liquor work their magic. "I've missed this, Bones." His voice was quiet, suddenly filled with emotion.

Instantly understanding Booth's reference, Brennan swallowed thickly and nodded, also letting her head fall against the sofa back. "I know, Booth." She took a risk and let her hand rest on his forearm. "I've missed it, too. I've missed spending time together…"

His eyes studied her features, her pale eyes and the healthy flush filling her cheeks. Covering her hand with his, he reached over to the end table and grabbed the anonymous-looking package, handing it to her without explanation.

Looking up from where she was studying their hands, Brennan looked into his dark pools, the anthropologist swallowed her sudden wave of nervousness. "What is this?"

"I saw this and...well… I wanted to get it for you…" He watched as a combination of curiosity and confusion crossed behind her eyes and wanted to better explain himself. "Listen, Bones," he licked his lips and turned to face her completely. "When I've been at my lowest… When I've been moody and pissy, and by far, not the partner you deserved, you stuck by me."

"Booth," Brennan didn't think she had done anything to deserve what she suspected were going to be words of gratuity.

"No, please, Bones. I need to say this." When she nodded her acquiescence, he sighed and organized his thoughts. "I was thinking about last month, when you hijacked those Tommy Guns from the museum and brought 'em to the range…" He shrugged and smiled. "You could'a just left me to my own devices that day, and I wouldn't have blamed you one bit 'cause I know I was bein' a prick. But you didn't… You gave me something that no one else could've ever given me. And you did it with such an understatement of support, Bones, that when I thought about it later that night, I was stunned by you."

"You would have done the same thing for me, Booth." She honestly didn't feel that she'd done anything above and beyond, she just wanted her partner to know that despite how he may have been feeling at that time, he wasn't alone.

Searching the depths of her pale eyes, he smiled and motioned to the small package. "Well, this isn't quite as remarkable, and I know it's more than a month late, but, Happy Valentine's Day, Bones."

She smiled, touched that her partner had appreciated her gift of an evening with the historic submachine guns more than she realized. She moved her eyes between his handsome features and the gift that was tempting her willpower.

"Go ahead, Bones. Open it." He nodded, anxious to see her reaction and hoping she'd like his find.

With the excitement of a child, her hand darted out and grabbed it, surprised at the weightiness. Untying the twine and opening the paper carefully, she handled the gift cautiously. Finding an aged, yellowed box, she looked at Booth suspiciously.

"It's umm," he raised one side of his mouth. "Well, I think you'll like it… I don't think you have anything else like it…" He eyed the box, as if he, too, was wondering what was inside.

Excited for the reveal, Brennan slowly lifted the lid. Gasping in surprise, she raised wide eyes back up to Booth before looking back down.

"Booth, where did you find this…?" Her lips were curled in pleasant surprise, her voice quiet and breathless. Lifting it up, she was even more surprised to see there was another underneath. "More than one?"

Happy that she seemed pleased, he nodded. "Yep. There are five in total…" He pointed to the box as she set the first two on the coffee table.

"These are amazing," she crooned as she admired five antique copper engraving plates, each one a different skeletal view. "These would have been used in the making of anatomical prints for early medical studies…" Growing excited, she picked up the plate showing a detailed view of the human hand. "See the details here?" She pointed to the metacarpals. "This is beautiful, Booth…" She looked up at him, her eyes shining bright. "They're all beautiful. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Bones." He was happy she liked them. "I'd never seen them before. And I didn't think you had anything like 'em already."

"I don't." She looked down and smiled admiringly again. "I think I'd like to frame them and display them in my office." She felt her cheeks flush with warmth and she leaned sideways, resting against Booth's shoulder as she held the plate showing a cross-cut of a skull in her hand. "Where did you find them?"

He smiled and boldly wrapped his arm around her, keeping her close. "There's a little shop on South Street up in Philly that specializes in oddities and curiosities. It's been in business for years." He picked up the rib cage plate, running his thumb across the ridges and grooves. "I wanted to find something unusual, something special for you. And I took advantage of my assignment."

"Booth, you didn't need to buy me anything. I didn't expect you to…"

Grinning, he rested his cheek against the top of her head. "I know." Swiping his thumb across the back of her shoulder where his hand rested, he inhaled slowly, humming in approval of her weight against him. "You might not have expected it, but you deserve it."

Lifting her head from his shoulder, Brennan took a chance and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I love them, Booth." She tilted her head and looked at him, admiring his handsome, chiseled features. Taking a bold step, but one she felt surprisingly comfortable making, she leaned up again, this time pressing a kiss to his lips, lingering until he responded, kissing her back.

After several moments, they parted and rested their foreheads together, each pondering the implications of their actions. Finally exhaling in relief, Brennan nearly chuckled and pulled back so she could look up at her partner. "I've been wanting to do that for a while, now…"

Surprised at her comment, Booth grinned. "Really?" When she nodded, he swept an errant lock of hair and tucked it behind her ear. "Well," his eyes skipped across her features, pausing on her mouth before looking at her eyes. "I'm glad to know I wasn't the only one…"

Turning to face him fully, Brennan brought her arms to his shoulders, suddenly feeling emboldened and she kissed him again. "Maybe one weekend," she trailed her fingers along the straight edge of his haircut, "we can go up to Philadelphia and you can take me to that store... I think I would enjoy seeing what else they sell." She rubbed her nose against his playfully.

"Mmm-hmm," he nodded. Running his hands along her arms and down her sides until they settled at her hips, he tugged her closer, and through a series of nibbles he permitted himself against her mouth and jaw, ultimately coaxed her until she scooted over onto his lap. Looking up into her smiling eyes, he knew he'd agree to anything she wanted, if it meant she would look at him with that same twinkle for the rest of their lives. "Whenever you wanna go, Bones. I'll give ya the grand tour."

Biting her bottom lip, the scientist searched the depths of Booth's dark gaze and, as if there was an inexplicable shift in the universe, it suddenly felt like all their struggles and misunderstandings fell into place; into an unseen realm of unspoken understanding and forgiveness. When he stretched up to nuzzle the spot where her neck met her ear, Brennan leaned forward and tilted her head, allowing him the access that he obviously wanted. She closed her eyes and simply melted against him, surrendering to his attention and knowing that in the end, things were going to work out just the way she'd been secretly dreaming.

 **Postscript A/N I bet you thought I'd never get to the unusual gift, didn't you? Trust me, I started to doubt it, myself... JazzyMuse kinda took off on her own for this one, completely going against anything that I had originally planned, so I hope you're OK with how it turned out. Now that this beast is done, I'm gonna go out there and look for the other fics that were posted, because since starting this one, I haven't been reading anything :(**

 **I wish everyone a Happy February 14th.**

 **peace,**

 **~jazzy**


End file.
